


The Burden of Sin

by CourierNinetyTwo



Series: Mafia Blake AU [7]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Safer Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard to remember "once bitten, twice shy" when Neo is around. Set in a gap of time before Balestra. Not attached to the main plot arc of Mafia AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burden of Sin

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warning for alcohol abuse. Yang isn't in a great state at this point in her life.

_I need you to pick someone up for me, darling. It’s just an hour of your time._

Yang was two shots in when Cinder asked – enough to put a flush in her face but not much else – but considering Cinder was the one pouring the shots in the first place, it wasn’t like she could claim ignorance. A third glass had been offered for the road, knocked back in the parking lot and tossed into the glove compartment as the engine came to life. There were no cops out this late anyway; they were too afraid of what went bump in the night, the Grimm she killed by the dozens. Hundreds.

Thousands.

Of all the fucking nights for Ruby to go back to Patch. Shadows danced over the dashboard and Yang’s hands tightened on the wheel. The trip by bullhead to the island made her jumpy without a bottle of whiskey riding shotgun these days; thin steel walls too close together, pressing in on all sides without any escape. Unless she jumped.

“Shit.” The inside of her mouth was dry, but there was nothing for it. Yang cranked up the radio, wincing at the burst of static that spilled out until her knuckles struck the display and killed the noise. “Who the hell is on a back road like this so late?”

Cinder’s directions were simple – take the turnoff and an hour straight ahead until reaching the last house on the left. A light would be on out front.

_“They live on the edge of the woods like that and they don’t have a car?”_

_Cinder’s casual shrug offered no comfort. “For some, it’s a liability. You understand that concept, don’t you?”_

The road lost its asphalt after another ten miles, pale gravel kicking up onto the windshield until Yang growled and eased up off the gas. There were no lights except the car’s high-beams and gnarled trees stretched their branches up over each side to form a dark, thorny arch. It looked like something out of the fairytales she used to read aloud to Ruby, the sort with witches and wolves lurking in the underbrush.

“Got to lay off the gin.” Yang muttered under her breath. “Makes me fucking nostalgic. Melancholic. Whatever.”

How long has passed before the claustrophobic canopy split open was hard to say, but as soon as there was a proper view, she caught sight of a row of houses along the next long stretch of road. They were all far apart from each other, split by barren fields and rusted-out barns, but only one of them had a light on.

“Finally.” True as Cinder said, there weren’t any other cars, but the garage door was up for some reason, even though there was nothing inside but some dirty shelves and mismatched cardboard boxes.

White paint peeled off the front of the house, curling up from the wall like claws. Half the tiles on the roof were cracked too, rain gutters almost full to bursting with sodden leaves and the dank creep of mold. Yang frowned when she saw an ancient oil slick while pulling up into the narrow driveway; _someone_  had had a car there once. It was too big to be from a motorcycle.

A plank was nailed across the door leading from the garage into the house, pinned by so many nails there was no way to pry it off easily. She grumbled at the inconvenience, wondering why there was even a damn doorway there in the first place.

“Going in the front, then.” Her fingers twitched, instincts jumping to the fore in the dark. Plenty of Grimm could hide in a house like this, crawling through the gaps in the walls or breeding in the basement. “Who would even live here?”

The screen door was hanging off one hinge, but it still swung open with a loud creak when Yang yanked the handle. A thick, plain wooden door was behind it, but there was something stuck in the lock.

Kneeling down and squinting, Yang had to strain to make out the details; light from the lamp in the driveway didn’t stretch very far. She flicked the object with her thumb and then pulled at it.

A lockpick.

“Place like this, I would have just broken a window.” After fiddling with the pick for a second, she pushed it back in and carefully twisted until the lock clicked open. “Huh, still got it.”

The first thing that struck Yang past the doorway was the sour smell of bleach. It burned and stung the inside of her nose until she took the handkerchief hanging off one hip and clasped the fabric over her face. Down the hall, a kitchen light was on, enough to see the lacquered floor wasn’t wet. Where the hell was it coming from?

“Hello?” Even muffled, her voice echoed all the way up to the rafters. “Cinder sent me to pick someone up.”

Was she the getaway driver for a robbery in progress? Who would want to steal something from a dust-trap like this?

No answer came, and a glance in the kitchen proved it was empty, although recently used. Warm suds and a pair of damp rubber gloves idled in the sink, bubbles quietly popping into empty air with each passing second. Yang frowned; there wasn’t a dish in sight, despite the trashcan overflowing with old takeout containers and empty cans.

A sliver of light drew her to the far end of the hallway, cast under a closed door. The bleach was stronger here, but chased with something else she couldn’t identify.

“Hey.” Yang rapped her knuckles against the door. “Your ride’s here.”

Nothing. This was bullshit.

She gripped the knob and gave it a hard shove inward. “Come on, I don’t have all–”

It took a moment for Yang’s eyes to focus on what exactly she was looking at. A bathtub had been dragged to the center of the room, leaving thick tracks of grime behind, but what was inside it was a thousand times worse. Gallons of lye made her gag, barely making out the plastic liners before seeing bare bone and brown-red froth, something viscous floating on the surface that looked just like–

Yang slammed the door shut and dropped to one knee, gasping through the cloth stretched across her face. Nausea turned her stomach into a labyrinth of knots in between shockwaves of panic, bile burning up from throat to nose.

 _Someone._  That had been a person once. The skull was human.

And behind the tub, on a mirror anchored on the wall, had been the word  _TRAITOR_ in bright pink lipstick.

Yang knew who Cinder had sent her for, but her legs were like columns of lead, refusing to move no matter how much force she put behind it.

Soft footsteps heralded the approach, lighter than a cat’s. She didn’t dare to look up until white spats and black-accented heels halted at the edge of her vision, somehow pristine and untouched.

Slender fingers – bare for once – hooked under Yang’s chin and tugged sharply upward.

“Neo.” Breathing the name made it real, but she couldn’t help it.

Rosy pink irises flickered to washed-out silver and back before Neo mouthed,  _what are you doing here, Yang?_

The thick web of scar tissue across Neo’s throat, ending in a jagged puncture near the left side of her jaw, was proof of whatever incident had stolen her speech. It resembled ebony roots climbing upward, fading to a pale tone that carved a dappled crescent over one cheek, lighter flecks scattered above each brow. Junior had told Yang once that she was capable of a raw whisper if pressed, but preferred to sign or forcibly gesture, and after that, Yang noticed Neo almost always mimicked words her way, forcing her to pay attention to the swell and movement of the older woman’s mouth.

“Cinder sent me.” Anger clawed away Yang’s fear just long enough for her to stand, towering over Neo with a sneer. “You didn’t tell her?”

Silver eyes became a warm brown with a blink and fluttered in a mockery of innocence.  _Tell her what?_

“You left me!” Yang shouted, rage crackling under her skin like lightning. “I woke up in the middle of fucking nowhere. Alone. No car. The water didn’t even work.”

Neo shrugged, gesturing towards her chest. _Well, it wasn’t my apartment._

Sputtering, Yang demanded, “Who the hell did it belong to, then?”

 _It was empty._ Following the comment with another shrug, Neo’s mouth tightened in an exaggerated moue of disgust. _I don’t have other people where I live._

“Wherever it was, you fucked me and left.” Yang spat, clenching her fists so tight she heard something pop.

 _Yang,_ Neo’s mouth dropped in a teasing imitating of a drawl,  _have you been drinking?_

“Of course I–” Stopping short, Yang snarled, “what does that have to do with anything? There’s a fucking corpse in the bathroom and you want to lecture me about a couple shots?”

 _It’s my job_ , Neo mouthed.

“I didn’t want to know that. I didn’t–” A sickened shudder crept down Yang’s spine.

Then a pair of fingers stroked down her arm, gentle as a handler soothing a hound. _Hush._

She opened her mouth to snap back, but Neo’s eyes narrowed, holding the stare long past what was comfortable. Yang swallowed hard, mentally kicking at the distracted flutter that made her pulse skip a beat. Not fear, not quite.

 _Do you hate me now, then_? Neo tilted her head curiously.  _You didn’t say you wanted me to stay._

The whole night was a blur. Yang remembered more about how Neo looked under the club lights, all scintillating colors, leather and lace, than how the two of them had gotten to the apartment in the first place, what happened once their clothes hit the floor.

“Would you have stayed?” She asked, feeling light-headed. The stench of bleach was even worse now, somehow.

 _No,_ Neo raised her hand, tightly pressing two fingers against her thumb,  _but you wouldn’t have been surprised._

“Who was that guy?” It didn’t matter, probably. There wouldn’t be any proof left by the time she called the cops. Even if Yang hadn’t known exactly what Neo did for a living, if there was one word Cinder ever used to describe her, it was ‘meticulous’.

The question earned a tight frown.  _What do you want to know? His age? The color of his eyes? If he had any children?_

As soon as those words sank in, Yang’s stomach lurched. She didn’t want to know a damn thing; it would make all of this worse. “Never mind.”

 _I knew you were smarter than that._ One of Neo’s hands seized her wrist and pulled.  _Come on, now._

She stiffened, caught between getting away from the bathroom and not knowing where Neo was trying to take her. “Where are we going?”

 _We can’t leave for an hour._ Neo’s eyes flickered again, bright and plaintive. _Let me make things up to you._

“An hour for what–” Yang hesitated and swallowed hard. “Oh.”

The instinct to say no, to bolt to her car and drive until the gas ran out bubbled up before Neo’s hungry smile tamped it down. The promise of escape was etched in that expression, an hour where she didn’t have to think.

And the guy was already dead. No one could fix that.

Yang had to duck her head an inch to follow Neo into the bedroom – or what vaguely resembled one. She nudged an empty box out of the way before Neo led her to the bed and gave a light shove, dust kicked up from the comforter by the impact. It left the air dry and stale, choking, but Yang lost the chance to inhale when Neo straddled her hips and kissed her.

Nothing offered was kind or sweet; Yang let her mouth be plundered until her lungs burned, jaw starting to ache by the time Neo was sated and pulled away. Quick fingers stripped away her jacket, then found the straps of her top and bra, tugging them down until both breasts were bared and Yang shuddered. Cloth stretched taut against her shoulders, threatening to rip in two if she struggled too hard against it.

She kept her hands against the mattress, Ember Celica weighing them down as well as any cuffs. That was one thing seared into Yang’s memory; if Neo wanted to be touched, it would be asked for, demanded. The morning after that first night, Yang had woken up with finger-width bruises up and down both arms, each one a punishment for wandering. Then again, she had been twelve shots in then instead of two.

Nails scraped over her breasts, biting in hard enough to leave crescents flush with red, but not quite break through the skin. Yang hissed between her teeth, catching Neo’s pleased, split-second smirk at the sound. It hurt, but her body responded with a surge of heat in the pit of her stomach, spreading like wildfire between her thighs. Tension built there the moment Neo cupped her through her shorts with one insistent hand, the sudden friction drawing out a moan.

No matter how sensitive or intimate a place, it was sussed out in an instant. Neo knew exactly how to set her ablaze like it was second nature, the perfect pressure on every inch of skin, where to sink those nails in and when to soften the touch just long enough for Yang to recover. It was always more of the former than the latter, but where the pleasure made Yang’s nerves sing, the pain – calculated, precise – got her higher than anything she could buy off Cinder.

A hard tug urged Yang to lift her hips, shorts taken down past her knees. Neo’s fingers caught in the band of her underwear and took those too, ignoring the sweat that made fabric cling to skin. Yang sucked in a breath, about to part her thighs when Neo jerked back with a scowl and glanced around the room.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, breathless.

The only response was a harsh gesture to stay still as Neo slipped off the bed and right out of the room. Yang hadn’t heard anything strange – no sirens or footsteps – but doubt left her restless, unsure whether to get rid of the rest of her clothes or get dressed. She settled for playing with the buckle of the cincher around her waist until Neo came back a few minutes later, tossing a black duffel bag onto the floor.

The zipper barely made a sound as it was opened, and Yang propped herself up on one elbow to catch a look inside. A box of disposable scalpels and a bottle of some chemical labeled as highly toxic made her eyes go wide, but Neo casually pushed them aside, searching deeper into the bag until she plucked out two square plastic packets. Yang barely had time to react before one was tossed her way, caught just an inch from her face.

She turned it over, glancing at the label. “One latex–oh. Did we use one of these last time?”

After setting the bag away from the bed, Neo tore the edge of the packet open with her teeth and got rid of the wrapper. When she looked up, it was to roll her eyes and mouth,  _you were drunk, not stupid._

“Good to know.” Yang said with a sigh. Easy to tell what Neo was in the mood for, anyway.

Another pull dragged her shorts past her ankles, answering Yang’s other question, and she lay back against the bed, gripping the packet against her palm. She didn’t want it to get dropped down the side or anything, but it was something to focus on besides the urge to sink her hands into Neo’s hair, feel those multi-colored strands pull tighter than a noose in her grip.

Two fingers parted her open and Yang swallowed a moan, the the cool press of latex exposing that she was dripping wet. Plenty of partners had accused her of having a hair trigger but Neo didn’t comment, only giving a warning glare at the position of Yang’s hands before the first stroke of her tongue. Yang gasped, arms going above her head and crossed at the wrist like she was bound, and the reward was a hard suck over her clit.

Content with the response, Neo eased off, lapping low against Yang’s folds until her tongue darted forward, teasing at penetration through the tight barrier. Pleasure shot up Yang’s spine, hips jerking by reflex until a hard scratch down her thigh commanded otherwise. It was deep, blood surging close to the surface, but the whine that caught in her throat made Neo smile, cold as any predator.

A firm shove pushed Yang’s knees up higher, wider until her feet were up off the bed, and she read the order in matched silver eyes to keep them that way, leaving Neo’s hands free to delve back down. She bit her lip, but it failed to stifle a groan even when she turned her head away. Looking Neo in the eyes was hard when they were that color – even the pink was better, despite it being the same shade as the lipstick on the mirror – and the best was when both were dark as old wood, anything than that metallic glint.

It was too familiar.

The strain of the position only made Yang breathe harder, the slow circles Neo painted with her tongue accented with lingering sucks and licks that made a slick pop whenever her mouth left the latex. Yang felt herself tighten at the sound and moaned even louder, tension coiling in an infinite loop through her body.

A sharp quiver went from thigh to calf, feet dropping an inch towards the sheets before Neo leaned up and sank her teeth deep into the soft curve of Yang’s hip.

“Fuck!” Adrenaline twisted the pain from an agonized scorch to a low ache and Yang trembled, fought the urge to buck her hips. “Please, come on…”

Whether it was the begging or a lack of patience, Neo relented, relaxing her jaw and kissing against the mark she left before her head ducked back down. She smoothed the latex into place again, eyes changing color and shining with wicked intention. Yang didn’t understand until she felt Neo’s tongue spread her open, but didn’t see the movement. The delay and surprise both made her jolt, followed by what felt like phantom fingers tracing up her thighs.

“That’s so not fair.” Yang gasped.

A quick, heated swipe from entrance to clit was her answer, the sensation lingering longer than it should have when Neo tilted her head up and mouthed,  _shut up and come_.

Yang couldn’t even protest when Neo’s tongue pressed against her clit and stayed there, finally forcing her over the edge. She turned and stifled a cry into the bunched-up blankets even though there was no one else but them to hear the scream, riding out each wave of bliss until her legs went slack against the bed, muscle jumping and flexing there as her chest rose high and quick with every panted, desperate breath.

The blank white ceiling above her was briefly washed over with red, blurring at the edges until Neo sat up, brushing her hair back out of her face. Yang let out a soft groan when the dental dam was stripped away, exposing slick heat to the cool air of the room. Languor settled into her limbs, warm and lazy, until Neo straddled her, tapping the back of her hand against Yang’s tightly clenched fist.

“Sorry.” Gulping down another full breath, she relaxed, fingers fumbling before tearing off the wrapper of her packet and tossing it aside. “Something’s bothering me.”

Neo raised a brow.  _What?_

“Why did–” Yang couldn’t keep her eyes closed no matter how much she wanted to; the image was scorched in place, reflected twice over off the mirror. “Why the tub? I mean, there’s easier ways, aren’t there? Dust or leaving him for the Grimm.”

Despite the absence of sound, Neo cupped a hand over her mouth to hide a laugh, lines of amusement displayed across her face. Yang felt a nervous flop in her stomach at the gesture and focused on unfolding the latex instead, briefly distracted when Neo’s fingers dropped down to her belt, the black buckle clicking open and sliding free. The trousers came next, revealing dark skin dappled with pale spots here and there, scattered like a constellation. Pink lace clung tightly to Neo’s hips, the silk of her panties nearly translucent with arousal.

That, at least, Yang took as a good sign.

Neo didn’t bother stripping past the calf before she shifted her weight over Yang’s chest, knees pressing in hard against either side of her ribs before leaning down, almost close enough for a kiss. A curtain of color brushed against Yang’s cheek, pink and white curls trailing into sable as both eyes flipped from silver back to an opposing split, dispelling whatever illusion lingered in the air.

Or one of them, anyway.

 _Don’t you know the Mistrali proverb, Yang?_ She saw Neo’s tongue hook on  _Mistrali_ , but whether it was proof of an accent or mimicry, it was impossible to tell. The possibilities were too much to consider after Neo’s lips teased against her ear and she heard the hoarse, razor-edged whisper of, “ _traitors always drown_.”

When Neo straightened up, she flashed a smile as if nothing had been said at all, and Yang’s throat seized when she tried to speak in turn. Better to tilt her head back and let Neo straddle her face then think that through, the dam in place for barely a second before Yang put her mouth to work. She had no complaints about being touched, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when Neo’s hands buried themselves in her hair. Not to pull but to anchor, give leverage for the slow grind of hips against the flat of her tongue.

It wasn’t drowning, no, but suffocating was close enough. Yang was dizzy between stilted inhales, Neo’s words ricocheting inside her skull with the same force as any bullet. She had never heard the other woman speak before, and it had to be that? Something that would echo in her blood, freezing it with fear?

Forgetting was so much easier. When Neo started to breathe faster, Yang focused on that hard vibration instead, chasing the occasional high-pitched murmur when she hummed and sucked, tongue curling against the swell of Neo’s clit. When the thighs on either side of her head shook with need, Yang saw Neo’s lips part in an obvious moan and took that as a cue to go even faster, working the friction between the barrier and her tongue until those maddening eyes went wide, a silent but pleased curse cast her way.

The rhythm of Neo’s hips was constant now, demanding more and more until Yang felt like she was going to choke, but the second after a sharp twinge crept up her jaw, Neo’s head tilted down, a quiet _oh_  of exclamation signaling her release. Yang held out until black spots darkened the boundaries of her vision, turning her head away and gasping as they faded, popping just like bubbles. It was a sweet relief to breathe but burned just the same, lungs starved for air yet protesting the promise of it.

Neo loosened the grip in her hair, making a cursory attempt to smooth away a tangle or two. Yang kept still as she retreated to the far end of the bed, gathering every bit plastic and latex they’d abandoned without a word as soon as her clothes were back in place. Now that Yang could cobble her thoughts together, she realized that all of that was technically evidence, proof they’d been here.

That came paired with the truth that she’d just fucked Neo in a dead man’s bed. The only mercy was that the smell of bleach was gone, or finally filtered through her system, lodged too deep in her senses to matter.

Once the trash was disposed of, Neo stretched, making another motion to stay put that Yang was in no hurry to disobey. Time dripped by with the occasional interruption of a splashing sound or the grind of porcelain on tile. As expected, Neo worked in perfect silence otherwise, returning to the bedroom with a small smile, fresh lipstick, and a bottle of vodka that she tossed onto the bed. It was full, splattering upward against the inside of the glass and its thick cork.

 _For the road._ Neo put both palms flat, one towards the ceiling and the other at the floor, flipping them in a fluid movement.  _He doesn’t need it anymore._

“I really shouldn’t.” Tugging her shorts back up, Yang glanced towards the bottle and fought a sigh of disappointment. “I drove here, but–”

Neo cut the words off with a hard shake of her head.  _I’m driving back._

It sounded like heaven to just sit in the passenger sit and sip the night away, or if nothing else, something close to a quiet purgatory. Still, Yang couldn’t stop a sudden recoil of disgust up her spine and tore her eyes away from the liquor.

Cheap stuff, anyway.

“You can drive, but I’m not in the mood for a hangover tomorrow.” Fishing out her key, she tossed them to Neo, who caught them between two fingers. “I might just nap in the back.”

Rather than argue, Neo simply shrugged and knelt to zip up her duffle bag, slinging it over one shoulder and jingling the keys to encourage Yang to follow. She kept her eyes firmly on the floor, refusing to look back at the bathroom or anywhere else until the screen door snapped shut behind them. The night air was a frigid slap against her overheated skin, and Yang put her jacket on again before retreating to the back half of the car.

After a quick adjustment of the driver’s seat, Neo threw her bag on the passenger’s side and started the engine. The low roar was soothing and Yang fell asleep to it a mile down the road, curled up against cold leather.

Everyone in her dreams had silver eyes.


End file.
